The Phoenix Queen
by Sarsalot
Summary: Sequel to One of a Kind. Alanna's off adventuring again, and there's trouble at home ... VERY IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE! PLEASE READ IT!
1. Fateful Alliances

The Phoenix Queen 

**Disclaimer:** The country of Tortall, it's inhabitants, and all surrounding countries, gods, and characters (with the exception of a few originals) are the property of Tamora Pierce, not me. No profit is being made, or will be made, from this fanfic.

A/N: Here it is, the sequel to One of a Kind. Sorry this has taken so long to get up – I've had writer's block for a while, and several new stories on the go. Also, my old email address was hacked and I lost the list of addresses for my mailing list. I've re-done it, but I might not have all of them, so if you want me to email you when I get new chapters up, ask in you review and leave your address. 

Chapter One: Fateful Alliances

Three months had passed since the departure of Lady Alanna from the Tortallan court, and things were, surprisingly, getting interesting in her absence.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Gary asked, looking over at his cousin worriedly.

Jon shrugged. "It's not like it matters one way or the other what I think, Gary. Father's made up his mind and nothing I say will change it for him – besides, we can't afford to offend to Carthak by backing out now."

 Gary sighed. "I didn't ask whether you could change things Jon. I asked if you would if you had the option." 

"Of course I would." Jon snapped. "It's not been that long since mother died, after all. And, well – the age difference is a bit much, don't you think? She's _twenty-six_ for Mithros' sake. No wonder the Emperor was so eager to get her married off."

Gary shrugged. "I heard she had her father's ear and managed to persuade him to let her stay in Carthak unwed because twisted his thinking so that he believed it wasn't necessary to use her in an alliance to a country weaker than Carthak."

Jon shrugged angrily. "Evidently he changed his mind." Slamming his glass onto the table, the prince rose, slamming the door behind him as he left.

₪

Jake laughed. "C'mon Alanna – if we go any further east we'll end up rounding the Inland Sea." Seeing his fellow Shang's eyes sparkle at the prospect, he backtracked hastily. "It'd be cold – don't you think it's time we went north again?"

Alanna shrugged. "I always wanted to see what lay east of the Roof of the World – d'you think we could manage to get on the other side without going through the mountains if we went round the Inland Sea?"

Jake shook his head decisively. "No – the mountain ranges continue on this side of the sea – back before the Inland Sea penetrated that far it was all one long chain of them. Besides – we might have some trouble when we got over there – I've never heard of anyone going there, and if we haven't heard of the countries there, chances are they won't have heard of us, either. You could have some trouble what with being a Tortallan noble, and we'd both have trouble being warriors from this side of the Roof."

"Trackers and merchant wagons pass that way." Alanna persisted stubbornly.

Jake threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine. We'll go see the other side of the Roof of the World. _But_ –" he said warningly as Alanna grinned. " – If we get into any trouble it's on your shoulders, and we're crossing over on the other side of the Sea."

"Alright alright," Alanna exclaimed impatiently, rising. "Fine – let's go."

He stared at her. "What, _now_?"

She laughed. "Why not? No point in wasting time."

He rolled his eyes. "We _will_ waste time, Alanna. We've only got a few hours of travelling time left in the day and we need to resupply."

_He's right, _Faithful yowled. _Stop acting like a senseless kitten and make some proper plans._

Alanna glared at him, reseating herself. "Fine. So, what do we need?"

₪

"So how long will it take?" Alanna demanded.

The captain looked at her squarely. "One week if the weather's fair, lady."

She sighed. "Are you _sure_ this is the shortest route across?" She asked Jake.

He nodded. "If you don't believe me, ask the captain here. Besides, taking a ship to Maren would mean less crossing time crossing over land – the only other option is to travel further along until we can catch a ship to Tyra, and all that would do would be to waste our time."

"Alright – _will_ the weather be fair?" She asked sharply.

The captain nodded. "Aye. And if it isn't, we do have wind ropes from a weather mage up in Carthak – although it would cost ye extra if we were to use them at your request."

Alanna looked at Jake, who shrugged. "Then we will travel with you."

He nodded. "We sail at dawn tomorrow – you'd best be here a little before to stow your things before we cast off – unless you'll be bringing your things this evening."

"We'll bring it in the morning." Jake said, Alanna nodding assent as he said so.

Walking away, he poked her arm. "I thought the Dragon would've given you a better grasp of geography." 

Alanna shrugged. "I was schooled in a convent, Jake. I didn't have the option you did of travelling round with my Shang master, though I would've liked to – and embroidery and etiquette rated considerably higher on the priestesses' lists of priorities for the education of young ladies than learning international geography – they never really expected any of us to travel much outside Tortall, after all."

He nodded. "Good point."

₪__

The captain knocked, poking his head round the door as Alanna called for him to enter. 

"Yes?" She asked, putting down her quill.

He ducked his head. "We'll be landing in a few hours, lady. You'd best pack what ye need, if ye wish to get ashore before we unload the spices."

She nodded. "Thankyou."

The captain went out, shutting the door behind him, and Alanna glanced down at the letter before her, idly twirling her quill as she re-read what she had written. 

_Dearest Brother,_

_This will probably be the last letter you receive from me for quite some time – Jake and I are going east of the Roof, in search of adventure and (well, I am, at least) someone who _won't _address me as lady._

_I can't believe it's only been four months. I miss you terribly, and Tat and Jon. I haven't had time to write to Rhia, so this will have to for her as well – I'm sorry I have to miss your wedding (and ordeal!) – only two months now, isn't it?_

_I'll be sure to write you when I get back,_

Sighing, she dipped the quill.

_My love,_

_Alanna_

₪

Alanna gasped as she stepped outside, turning and slamming straight into Jake's broad chest. She pulled away hastily, trying to duck under his arm to the inn's door. "It's so _cold!_" She wailed. 

You were the one that wanted to come here, Faithful reminded her. No, Alanna snapped. I wanted to go east of the Roof and this is the only way to do it – it doesn't mean I have to like being here! 

Faithful gave a cat shrug, idly licking a paw as he stood in the doorway, before jumping (rather impressively) onto Jake's shoulder, and from his, to Alanna's.

"So where's this caravan?" Alanna asked, gripping Luna's reins firmly as a stableboy brought the mare out.

Jake pointed wordlessly to a string of wagons, roofed against the snow, barely visible in the storm.

Scowling, the girl mounted, and nudged Luna to follow Jake and Wanderer, ploughing a path though the snow.

They reached the head wagon, and Jake exchanged a few words with the driver. The man shrugged, and cracked a whip at the draft-horses pulling the wagon.

The caravan began to pull away, and, as the last wagon rattled and groaned it's way through the snow ahead of them, Alanna spurred Luna again, and they set off.

₪

An hour later, the conditions hadn't improved in the least – to Alanna's mind, they were getting steadily worse.

She rode up to the head wagon, shouting to the driver. "Why are we leaving in conditions like this? Why not wait?"

The man shrugged, large shoulders made even bigger by the furs piled on them. "There is no point. The conditions will only get worse as winter gets closer. Chitral's path is never easy – they say he guards a treasure somewhere along the road, and the storms are to warn off those who would take it."

"Chitral?"

He jerked his head at the mountain ahead, visible only in that it was a greater concentration of white than the snow blowing around it. "The mountain. They say it is inhabited by an ancient spirit."

"Who says?" She demanded, but got no answer.

_The locals, no doubt._ Faithful commented from his seat beneath her fur-lined cloak.

_What do you know about it? _She asked.

_What makes you think I'd know anything about an old folk-tale?_

Alanna scowled. _Because all tales have a starting point, and you're always claiming to know everything about everything._

_So I do._

She sighed. _Then what do you know about this tale?_

_You said I know everything about everything – what if this is nothing? Would I still know it then?_

Alanna clenched her fist, resisting the temptation to pick up the cat and drop him in one of the deep drifts of snow surrounding him, and swung Luna back to the base of the string of wagons, giving the mountain a measuring look as she did so.

₪

Jon glared down at the woman curtsying before him. Beside him, his father smiled. "Princess Aliyah – we welcome you to our court."

She rose, smiling back at him. "It is indeed a joy for me to be here."

Roald gestured to Jon. "My son, Prince Jonathan."

She turned her smile on him, almost purring with supposed delight. "Your Highness. I trust we will get to know each other well."

He smiled, tightly, because protocol demanded it. "I hope so, your Highness."

Roald rose to take her hand, guiding her to the throne below him, offering a goblet of rich red wine the colour of the princess's dress. Jon scowled, and, seeing there were no more guests he was required to meet, strode off the dais, resisting the desire to punch something.

Thom was standing by his knight master, deep in discussion. "What do you think?" Jon demanded.

Thom blinked innocently. "Of what, your Highness?"

He waved his hand in the direction of the two royals. "_Her._"

Thom cocked his head to one side, studying the woman. "She's beautiful – rather surprising, considering what we've been expecting."

"You _know_ that's not what I meant."

The redheaded squire closed his eyes briefly. "I don't like her."

The Prince shook his head. "Neither do I, although it hasn't changed anything – did you find out anything about her?"

Thom shrugged. "She's – conniving, power hungry, shallow – a typical royal, one might say." He added, grinning as he saw Jon's scowl deepen, then abruptly turned serious. "She's also Gifted, so it's impossible to know much about her – she'd realise someone was trying to read her, although she'd think it was a spell, and mention it to someone. You can imagine the drama _that_ would cause."

"Myles?" Jon asked, turning to his old mentor.

The knight shrugged. "All we can do for now is watch her, Jon. You may not like her, but I don't think she's dangerous – at least I don't think that now, it may change later. If she's a typical court lady, I don' think we have anything to worry about."

"And if she isn't?" Jon asked darkly.

"Then," The old knight said. "We just might be in trouble."

₪

Raoul sighed, re-read the letter, and sighed again. "Well?"

Tat looked up from her embroidery. She was looking surprisingly stereotypical, the embroidery frame set high to compensate for her swollen stomach.

"Yes?"

"Do we go?"

She shrugged. "Darling, we have to, to put it frankly. It's a royal summons for a royal wedding – not the sort of thing one can refuse."

He scowled. "But you're pregnant – you shouldn't be travelling."

She laughed. "I'm not so far along I couldn't travel, Raoul. In any case, wouldn't Jon want you to be there?"

"So what do you suggest?"

She shrugged. "Though I hate to suggest it, it might be best if you went, and I stayed here. I can ask Rhiannon to visit while you're gone, and catch up on my gossip."

He sighed. "I suppose you're right –"

"As always."

He shot her a piercing look. "_Will_ you be alright?"

"Raoul." Standing, she crossed the room to cup his face in long, slender hands. "I'll be fine. Stop worrying, and go support your friend in his current hour of need."

He sighed. "Alright. I'd best go have my things packed, then."

Tat slapped his shoulder lightly. "Go, then."

Seating herself at the desk, she pulled a curl of parchment and a quill towards her.

_Dear Rhia …_

₪

"Tatiana?"

Tat looked up, catching sight of her nightdress-clad sister-in-law in the doorway.

"What is it, Natty?"

The girl shuffled her feet. "Is Raoul mad at me?"

Tat blinked in surprise. "No, of course not honey – why would he be?"

The girl blinked quickly, but not quickly enough to stop a tear spilling down her cheek. "He yelled at me. I asked him to take me riding today and he yelled at me to go away, and, and – mother was busy and papa told me to go away too and -"

Tat swallowed in sympathy. Natalie had been born uncharacteristically late for a second child – most couples had had their last child by the time Natalie had been born, and she tended to be a bit pampered as a result, and because of her frequent illnesses. The child had a delicate ego, and cruelty of any kind reduced her to tears.

"Come here, honey." Tat said, putting down her book and patting the sofa beside her.

Natalie sat, her brown eyes huge and brimming with tears in her thin, pale face.

"Why is everyone mad at me?"

Tat sighed. "No one's mad at you – your mother was just very busy –" She blanched a little as she said this, for she did not particularly like the Baroness Deirdre, who tended to be rather heartless to her children. "- And your father and Raoul are both very worried about the new queen."

Natalie looked interested. "There's to be a new queen?" She said, and Tat blinked in surprise. It hadn't occurred to her that no one had told the girl about the news from Corus, but then again, judging from the reception the girl had gotten, perhaps it wasn't so very surprising.

"Yes," she managed, then settled into her story-telling voice, one she had used often at the convent, mostly telling ghost stories to Rhia. "There is – from Carthak. She is the Emperor's daughter – Princess Aliyah. Prince Jonathan doesn't like her much, and Raoul's worried about him – besides, Queen Lianne has only been dead a year, and people still mourn her in some places."

"Oh."

"Raoul's got to go to Corus with your parents for the wedding and coronation, to show their allegiance, and there's not much time left to pack and travel."

"Oh – but what about us? Will you be going? And what about me?"

Tat smiled, placing a hand on her stomach as her child stirred restlessly. "It would be better for me not to travel right now, so I'm going to stay here with you, and Rhia might come to visit."

"Rhia?"

"You met her last year, at the wedding, remember?"

A small frown creased Natalie's forehead. "Was she the one with the pretty red hair?"

Tat laughed in spite of herself. "No – that was Alanna. Rhiannon was the one with the pretty horses."

Natalie's eyes went wide. "I remember her now! She let me ride her horse, though nurse said I wasn't too – she was very mad when she found out." The child giggled. "Do you think she'll let me ride her again this time?"

Tat smiled, ruffling the girl's hair. "She might. Off to bed with you now – it's past time you were asleep."

Natalie pouted, but got up, padding to the door. She turned back, the torchlight from the hall turning her brown curls into a halo around her pale face.

"G'night, Tat."

"Goodnight Natty."

₪

Raoul knocked on the door, than opened it, not waiting for an answer. Jon looked up, and rose. "Raoul! You're here! It's good to see you." 

Raoul smiled. "It's good to see you too, Jon." Studying his friend worriedly, he thought Jon looked tired – his normally groomed hair was uncombed, tousled into strange peaks as though he'd just woken, and there were dark circles under his eyes, accentuated by his even paler than normal skin.

"How've you been holding up?"

Jon shrugged. "Oh, you know – not too bad, considering my father's marrying a woman four years older than I am, she doesn't appear to like me, and Alanna's gone."

"You miss her?"

Jon sighed angrily. "Of course I miss her – I love her, for Mithros' sake." He grinned wryly. "To be quite honest, if I thought she'd agree, and she was here, I'd marry her."

Raoul raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that? Marriage isn't all it's cracked up to be – wives are bossy creatures."

Jon laughed. "Alanna's like that already."

"She'll get worse. I'm warning you, she will."

"Tat has you under her thumb, then?"

Raoul nodded. "Oh yes – I was all for refusing to come and she practically ordered me out the door – _after_ she made me go and humbly apologise to Natty, who I apparently upset."

Jon nodded, fighting back laughter – the first time he'd felt like laughing in days, at Raoul's tone and the slight smile that quirked the side of his mouth whenever he mentioned Tat, for all he bemoaned his fate as a married man.

"C'mon – let's go find Gary and Thom and head down to the Dove. I feel the need to get thoroughly drunk." The prince said, slinging an arm around Raoul's shoulders.

₪

With a quick, flirtatious smile at the harp player in the corner, Gary seated himself. Beside him, Raoul pushed Jon down onto the pew, sitting beside him and effectively trapping the prince between himself and Gary. Between them, Jon fumed. 

"I can't believe this, really I can't. She's only been here a few weeks, and they're marrying already!"

Raoul shrugged. "It _is_ rather quick work – d'you suppose the king – ah, compromised her…" He trailed off as Jon shot him a disgusted look.

"Sorry."

"I'm telling you this isn't _right_. I know my father – he wouldn't do this normally."

Gary sighed. "Jon, be reasonable. Probably the king doesn't want to marry her but, well – you _are _the only heir, and since you haven't shown any sign of planning to marry – "

"Only because the woman I _want_ to marry is on the other side of the roof."

"-Since you haven't shown any sign of planning to marry," Gary repeated. "Well, maybe the king thought he had to do something about it. The King's Council certainly did, from what Sir Myles has told us."

"Ssssh!" Raoul hissed, elbowing Jon as he stood, a fanfare announcing the arrival to the princess.

 Beside him, Jon and Gary both rose, a slight flicker of Jon's eyes the only sign of what he felt.

The high priest, clearly uncomfortable, performed the rites quickly, gesturing for a novice to come forward with the Queen's crown, polished to a high lustre after having been taken from the treasure vaults. The King, beaming, waited as the new Queen was anointed and her oaths taken. Then, taking hold of the delicate crown,  he placed it on her head, and held out a hand to help her to her feet. "By the powers vested in us, as King of Tortall, we do declare you our heir."

Raoul gaped, and Jon went absolutely white. Gary blanched, whispering, "That's not right – an heir of the blood _always_ comes before a second king or queen. What in Mithros' name is your father thinking?"

₪

"Can't you ask him about it?" Raoul demanded.

Jon sighed. "I did – he accused me of being _power hungry_ when I brought it up!"

Gary gave a low whistle. King Roald and his Queen had been famous for the love they bore their son – to the point of spoiling him, to be frank, although no one had ever said it aloud.

"So what do we do?" He asked.

Jon flopped into a seat. "That's the problem – we can't _do_ anything."

From his corner, Thom spoke up. "That's not necessarily true. We can wait, and watch. I suspect the king is under some sort of spell – if he is, then there must be _some_ sort of evidence."

"Unless it's just lust." Gary muttered.

Jon glared at him.

 "Well, it might be. She is – rather pretty, after all."

Jon rose. "If you want to talk about the dubious charms of my step-mother, you can do it when I'm not around."

Thom rose, following him. "I'm going to go see if I can find out something about her – if she's Gifted enough to put a spell on your father, for a start."

Jon smiled wanly at his friend. "Thanks, Thom."


	2. The Empire

The Phoenix Queen 

**Disclaimer:** The country of Tortall, it's inhabitants, and all surrounding countries, gods, and characters (with the exception of a few originals) are the property of Tamora Pierce, not me. The unnamed Empire and all it's citizens belong to fanfiction.net writer lady Berenice. No profit is being made, or will be made, from this fanfic. 

Chapter Two: The Empire

Jake groaned. "It's too _hot_."

Alanna merely smiled, tilting her head back to catch the hot sunlight on her face. "I like it." She said. "It's better than that freezing pass, in any case."

Her fellow Shang scowled. "I think I preferred the pass."

"Well, you're a fool, then. How could you not appreciate being warm?"

"It's not the being warm I object to," Jake grumbled. "It's the bloody unseasonable heat!"

She tilted an eyebrow in his direction. "Oh? And how do you know it's unseasonable, my friend? It could be perfectly normal for this country."

"Alanna, it's _midwinter,_ for Mithros' sake."

She shrugged. "Look forward to summer, then."

Jake muttered something unintelligible. "What was that?" Alanna asked innocently, a somewhat dangerous glint in her eye.

He sighed. "Nothing."

She gave a delighted looking (not entirely feigned) smile. "Let's go then."

₪

Sir Gareth (the Elder) of Naxen sighed. "I just don't understand it. She's a Carthakan princess – surely she must have picked up _some_ etiquette while she was growing up."

Sir Myles looked up from the papers he was reading. "No, she's not, and that's the problem. She _was_ a Carthakan princess – now she's Tortall's queen, and she's either doing a very bad job of being diplomatic, or a very good job of undoing all the ties between Tortall and our neighbours. The problem is, we don't know which."

The was a knock at the door, and Thom entered. Sir Myles sighed. "How much did you hear, lad?"

Thom blinked, a surprised look flitting over his face. "Hear, Sir Myles?"

Sir Gareth raised an eyebrow. "Of our conversation, boy. I highly doubt you've broken that terrible habit of eavesdropping behind doors."

Thom straightened up to his full (and not particularly impressive) height. "Sir Myles, your Grace, I would _never_ listen behind doors – that's what my Gift is for."

The duke snorted. "I _did_ set wards, you know. You might dignify an old man's pride by making it sound a _little _more difficult."

Thom shrugged. "Sorry, your Grace." He seated himself.  "I haven't been able to find out any more about the Queen's Gift so far, but I'm hoping I'll be able to tonight."

Sir Myles nodded. "Ah, yes, the Winter Solstice – helpful in matters of the Gift, I believe?"

Thom and Duke Gareth nodded in union. "It can, provided you know the appropriate spells, increase one's Gift quite dramatically."

Sir Gareth frowned. "Thom, your Ordeal –"

"Is tomorrow night, not tonight. I can sleep tomorrow – and I never sleep through this sort of night in any case. This is more important, your Grace."

Myles nodded, staring absently out the window to where bonfires could be seen being built up on the hills surrounding Corus. "He's right, Gareth. See what you can do, Thom."

The squire rose, bowed, and left.

₪

The wind howled around the Palace, screaming in a way the made the superstitious lock their doors, muttering nervously. Inside, a fire crackled with inappropriate merriment.

Thom stared absently into the flames, wondering if tonight, one of the most powerful nights of the year, he could reach his sister, then banished the thought quickly. Alanna had been out of contact on the other side of the roof for weeks now – and in any case, there was simply no time for it.

He shuddered, adding another log to the already roaring fire. While his dislike of the cold wasn't _quite_ as severe as Alanna's, he was by no means, fond of it, and tonight, of all nights, he would need the warmth.

He shuddered again, and closed his eyes, willing the vision not to come. _Not tonight_, he thought, desperately, _not tonight._

~_ The ground shook, alarmingly. Around him, several courtiers screamed, some diving for the floor, a few foolish ones rising, running about frantically. The ground shook again, this time bringing down a haze of dust from the ceiling. Through it, Thom glimpsed enough to recognise the Great Hall of Trebond Castle._

_The tremors continued, and high above, a beam slipped loose, bringing down chunks of rock. Thom heard the sickening thud of rock hitting flesh, and  then screaming. Desperately, he threw his Gift – his _self_ – into the walls around them, holding them together through sheer will. Raoul struggled up beside him. "I must –"_

_ He looked up, dimly seeing Alanna kneeling by Tatiana, half-crushed by a fallen stone. Tears streamed down his sister face as she ripped off the veil covering it, bursting the rock to pieces with her Gift; her once-white dress now mottled grey with stone and dust…_

_Somewhere, a child screamed for his mother …~_

Thom started up, realising he was on the floor. _I didn't realise it was that strong._ He thought, and staggered as the floor pitched violently beneath him. Reaching for his Gift, he searched frantically for the source.

~_Queen Aliyah grinned insanely, her eyes aflame with the reflected light of her Gift, swirling greens and yellows that brought to mind sickness and death. Before her knelt a young man, glowing silver as he scrabbled frantically at the chains of fire surrounding him. Reaching into the robe covering her flowing gown, the Queen brought out a circlet of some kind of metal, glowing with her Gift, and something else more indefinable. The man moaned at the sight of it, struggling with renewed ferocity as the Queen brought it about his neck, the latch clicking shut with a resounding clang of metal on metal. Reaching out her hands, the woman flung her head back as the silver fire of a god's Gift flowed into her. She spun, flinging a hand out, and a deadly silver dart flew from it, streaking through thick walls and doors of stone to bury itself deep in the chest of the sleeping King. King Roald stirred, muttering something, and turned on his side, the silver glow surrounding his chest dimming. ~_

Thom was on his feet and headed for the door almost before the vision relinquished its clutches on him, heedless of the still pitching palace.  The floor slipped under his feet, refusing to stay in one place, and Thom fell, the world dimming to utter blackness as his head crashed on the stone flags.

₪

Jake studied his bleary-eyed companion speculatively. "Just curious, what was all that screaming about?"

Alanna looked up, startled out of her reverie. "Hmm?"

Jake leaned forward, placing a mug of tea in her hands. "Last night – I didn't think your dislike of cold stretched so far you actually wake up screaming on midwinter's."

Alanna shrugged. "Oh, that. I – I had a nightmare."

Jake's eyebrows shot up. "Must've been bad."

Another shrug. "It – involved Thom. Which probably means he was trying to perform some stupid spell and tried to borrow some of my Gift. Idiot. If he's not dead when I get back I think I may just have to kill him, for stupidity if nothing else – his Ordeal is tonight, you know. So," She said, abruptly changing the subject. "Where're we headed now?"

Jake shaded his eyes, pointing in a vaguely southeast direction. "That way – capital of this Empire, Bersone, is in that direction."

Alanna squinted; trying to ignore the newly risen sun they were staring almost straight into. "How long will _that_ take?"

Jake shrugged. "My estimate, what with the way we travel it should take around two months. That'll leave a month for poking round the city and whatever surrounds it, two months to get back over the roof – well, we're hardly likely to go sightseeing on the way back." He added defensively as Alanna raised an eyebrow. "And that'll leave us with a month to get to Rachia for the Shang council."

The girl shrugged, her copper curls glinting with the movement. "Sounds good to me."

₪

"You know," Rhia commented, looking up from her needlework to where Tat sat nursing her son by the window. "The Queen's pregnant, apparently. Two months."

Tat looked up, a wry grin twisting her mouth. "Oh? That was quick. She and his Majesty have been married for, what, all of two and half months?"

Rhiannon shrugged, turning back to her needlework. "Perhaps she used her Gift to manipulate her cycle – you know it can be done. And," she added, flicking golden-brown balls of fire around the room, "giving King Roald another heir is the quickest way to worm her way even deeper into his favour, and oust Jonathan."

Tat started at these words, and the baby began to cry. She looked down at him, rocking him gently. "Hush, William." Raoul hadn't wanted either of them to come, despite the new queen's order that his lady should travel as soon as she was able to Corus, to join the ranks of Aliyah's ladies-in-waiting, declaring loudly enough for half of Goldenlake to hear the he didn't want his wife and son anywhere near 'that deceptive witch,' as he had called her. And, after two weeks in the queen's company, Tat was inclined to agree with her husband.

The young woman's lips curled in what was almost a snarl as she wrenched her minds back to what Rhia had said. "That's treason, Rhia. Both what you suggested and that you said it."

The girl sighed. "I know. But Thom said –"

Tat raised an eyebrow. "Secrets of the marriage bed, Rhia?"

The younger girl blushed. "Perhaps if he was ever there, rather than looking up spells til dawn. But in any case," she said, shaking her hair back. "Thom thinks she may have somehow managed to ensnare some sort of immortal – a demi-god, maybe even a minor true god, on midwinter."

Tat's eyebrows shot up. "How did he come by that conclusion?"

Rhia stood, crossing the rooms to where a tapestry of one of Trebond's illustrious forebears hung, swinging it aside to reveal a small door set into a niche in the war, hidden by the tapestry. Taking a key from around her neck, the girl opened it, pulling out a thick grimoire. "Here," she said, hefting the heavy manuscript over to where Tat sat by the window.  "It's Thom's personal spell book. Goes right back to when he and Alanna were children here." Flipping through the thick leaves of parchment, she finally came to a illuminated page, the swirling paints showing a man – or woman, it was hard to tell which – bowed before someone, the silver of the immortals and the many coloured gifts of the mortals binding the two together. "Here," she said, stabbing a finger at the text, written in Thom's clear hand, gracing the opposite page. "A mortal man or woman may, in certain circumstances and provided with the correct knowledge, power, and tools, capture any form of immortal up to the level of a minor god, thus draining their captive's power and increasing there own thousandfold, depending on the skill of the sorcerer. The power such a captive wields can be considered equal only to the fabled dominion jewel, and surpassed only through the strength of a major god or gods, such as Mithros, the Goddess and their brethren. On more than one occasion, such power has been said to have released the dark goddess Usoae, or Chaos, although in recent times such things as said to be only myth or legend…"

She trailed off, staring down at the page. 

Tat went pale. "Such power – surely it would be beyond the grasp of any mortal."

Rhia shook her head. "It seems not. Look," she said, turning the page. "Thom found a few old scrolls in the library containing spells on how such things may be done, and copied it here for reference."

Tat felt sick. "But surely – she's malicious, yes, but is she capable of this? Of all the people in Tortall, there are perhaps three – Alanna, your husband, and the Prince, who would be capable of such things?"

"Roger was, before he died, and look how many people trusted him – and they _knew_ of his power, Tat, they _knew._"

Tat swallowed, cradling her now-sleeping son closer. "We need Alanna here – she seems to have a talent for sniffing out plots of this sort." She murmured, and Rhiannon laughed, shakily.

"She does, at that."

Rhia rose, putting the book back into the safe, carefully drawing the tapestry across it again, then recalled her Gift from the guards she had set around the room. 

Tat rose, looking down at the sleeping baby, Alanna's godson, as she had agreed to delightedly by letter shortly before his birth, and sighed. "I'd best get this one back to bed, then." She murmured, throwing a parting smile at Rhiannon as she closed the door behind Tat.

₪

Queen Aliyah of Tortall smirked as she re-read the message, one hand resting lightly on her still-flat belly. The lady Shang, as she was known, was moving further and further away from Tortall, away from the prince she was reputedly in love with. All was going well, and soon, if her stroke of good luck continued, more than just Tortall would be within her grasp.

A/N: Sorry it's short – and that it's taken this long to get up, but hey, something's better than nothing, no? I've been really busy, had bouts of severe writers block, and I've been sick quite a bit lately – all in all life has not been too wonderful. I'll try and get another chapter written up over the weekend, but I'm not making any promises. Reviews would be wonderful inspiration (hint hint).

Aranel


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